Unshed Tears
by naughty teacup
Summary: AU, set during the war. Hermione has some doubts about love. Draco sets her right. Fluffy oneshot. Formerly Tears I Never Dared Cry, now edited and rewritten. DracoHermione.


**Unshed Tears **

**One-shot**

**Rating:** T

**Genre: **romance/angst

**Warnings: **is a re-write of an age old fic, Draco/Hermione, AU, disregards all books from the fourth one…

**Disclaimer: **I don't own and I'm not making any money by writing this story.

**a/n: **I'm not sure about how old this thing is. I read through it and I figured since I didn't know how to format stuff for (I still don't… Silly ) I'd try again. I've been meaning to do it for AGES, and by that I mean a year. This is some odd little AU one-shot, supposed to be during the war. Anyhoot, enjoy. Oh, and this fic contains three different episodes intercepting each other. The thing that happens first is when she is in the kitchen. Then the bed scene and then the fireplace scene in the evening. It jumps between the scenes a bit. I'll put little dots up whenever there's a scene change.

The light was filtering down through the smoky glass of the window, making odd shapes through the curtains on the carpet. She could feel small wisps of hot breath down her neck, making goose bumps on her arms stand on end. The good kind, that is. She closed her eyes with a sigh, savouring the sensation, hoping to memorize every inhale and exhale knowing that it wouldn't last. He'd be awake soon and leave, as he always did on mornings like these. She'd close her eyes and pretend to be in deep slumber and he'd get up and leave and never come back as he had done so many times before. She knew it was silly but there was always that thing gnawing away at her insides telling her that once he walked out that door, he'd never come back.

She turned over, wishing to catch a glimpse of his peaceful, sleeping face before he left only to see two silvery gray orbs stare back into her hazel ones. He was awake and she couldn't feign slumber to give her the fake security she needed. He lifted himself up to a half-sitting position and gazed down at her. If she didn't know better she could almost believe he cared. The white cotton sheets created a protective cocoon around them, a place of flittering light and freshly cleaned bed sheets. She loved the smell of clean sheets dried outside in the open air. She could almost believe for a moment they belonged and that it was supposed to be like this forever. Harmony.

He reached out and gently brushed away one of her many stubborn, frizzy curls from her forehead and bent down and placed a light kiss in its place. She could feel her throat constricting, like she had swallowed a lumpy piece of potato but not chewed properly and now it was forcing its way down, stretching her throat and making her eyes water. She hadn't dared to cry before. Crying meant accepting that this was real. He frowned and gazed down at her with what she called in their younger days, "the contemplating Aristotle face". He hadn't gotten the reference and she had loved to playfully tease him about it, calling him her very own snarky philosopher. She hadn't done that in years though. He frowned and it actually looked like he cared.

_As if,_ her broken mind told her through smoky glass. But it was okay. She could play pretend. She had done so for years so why not now? _Why not now? _The annoying lump in her throat became to painful to bear, making red hot tears spill out over her cheeks. Why not now? He pulled her close, letting her drown him in her sea of salty tears. She wondered if he knew. Maybe he had found it. She hoped not but she couldn't keep it a secret forever. She wondered if he loved her. She truly hoped so but he couldn't keep it a secret forever. He cupped her face and kissed away her tears. Did he love her?

"Do you love me?" she asked. He smiled his sad smile, the only one he could manage. She hated that smile. It made her weak. His demeanour changed and it was if it was never there.

"What makes you ask?" he said, smirking down at her. She hated that smirk. It made her smile despite herself and right now she didn't want to.

"Don't you smirk at me," she said, grabbing the nearest pillow and hitting him square in the face. He laughed and wrestled her down. He looked down at her and asked again;  
"What makes you ask?"

ooo

She sat at the coffee table in their small kitchen in their flat in Diagon Alley. She held a transparent vial in her hand. Three minutes ago it was liquid clear but now it sported several growing blue dots inside it. She grasped her head in her hand. Fighting the despair that threatened to overcome her. Positive. It was positive.

"Bugger," she said, under her breath.

ooo

"Because I want to know," she said, smiling slightly up at him.

"Silly question, don't you think?" he asked, leaning closer.  
"I suppose," she said, leaning into the soft touch of his kiss.

ooo

Silly questions. Silly girls asking silly questions. Silly girls with cheap perfumes, their scent still on her man's shirt collar. It was all so bloody silly, she thought as she downed another shot of firewhiskey. She giggled despite the fact that she didn't find it funny at all.

ooo

"Please, I just want to know, that's all," she said, trying to keep the desperation she felt out of her voice.  
"Why?" he said again. What is up with all these questions?

ooo

She sat at the coffee table in their small kitchen in their flat in Diagon Alley. The blue vial was lying in the trash can next to the sink and she noticed his shoes were missing from their usual spot next to Crookshanks' basket near the fire. He had left to never come back as so many times before.

She giggled again as the shot glass fell from her hand, down on the carpet. It was past midnight and the only light was coming from the lit fireplace. Crookshanks wiggled out of his basket and trotted up to his more or less drunk mistress. He sniffed at the dark spot newly made on the carpet and decided he liked this new thing and started lapping it up with a bright, pink tongue. She giggled again, pointing a wobbly hand at him.

"Pfft, you're not old enough to drink," she said, trying to reason with the fluffy, orange hairball. "You're not old enough to…" she started, choking on dry sobs, trying the hardest not to cry.

ooo

"What if I do love you," he said, a rare glint of mischief in his eyes.  
"What if you do?" she said. He kissed the tip of her nose lightly before rolling out of bed, starting on his usual morning routine.

ooo

She was sprawled out on the tattered sofa in front of the fireplace. Crookshanks was wobbling around on the floor, more or less drunk as his mistress. Another glass had found its way into her hand and she was now just dully staring into the flames. She registered that someone walked through the door but she didn't pay it any heed. Probably just another ghost of my past, she thought. She was in such a daze she didn't notice the sofa shift as someone sat down beside her. She didn't notice until he dragged her up into a sitting position. He took the glass out of her hand and set it on the floor. He brushed away one of her stubborn, frizzy curls from her face and kissed away dry tears. He continued to kiss away her tears as he whispered;

"I love you."

**a/n: **Yay! Much better than the original which was kind of sloppy. It's still sloppy but in the overly romantic way. And for those who didn't get a thing and wants a deep analysis: Hermione's probably just over reacting with being pregnant and the hormones are messing with her brain and the stress and fear of having a child at the height of the war is scaring her shitless. Oh, and has Draco cheated on her? That's up for you to decide. Anyways, please review!

**Fun mistake from the first draft that no one noticed or corrected:**

"_She was in such a daze she __didn't notice the sofa shit__ as someone sat down next to her…" _ Bwahahahaha! What a special sofa. has the giggles now


End file.
